


High and Tight

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Hair Brushing, Hair Salon AU, Hair Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis goes to get his hair did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High and Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowsfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsfan/gifts).



> Inspired, of course, by shadowsfan! This is an older piece but I realized it never made it onto AO3.
> 
> Description at the end based loosely on [this photo](http://fystephendillane.tumblr.com/post/46392992390/he-glows-and-everyone-glows-with-jennifer) and on Stephen Dillane’s role in _The Hours_.

“Sir? Sir,” the receptionist waved an elegant brown hand in Stannis’ direction, “you’re next. The last chair there, by the wall, and your stylist will be with you in just a moment.”

“Obliged,” muttered Stannis, stalking past the customers in the other four barber’s chairs — make that _salon_ chairs, overseen by _stylists_. If his ridiculous brother hadn’t scheduled a last-minute meeting for that evening, Stannis could be at home reading and then get a haircut from his usual place, on the edge of the financial district, the next day like he’d been planning to. Instead, here he was after business hours at a salon that mostly catered to women and — and gay men, he thought before he could stop himself. He felt a deep blush creeping up his chest and neck. It was still so hard to accept—

“Hello,” said a man approaching behind him. Of course the stylist would have to show up just as Stannis was in mid-argument with himself once again over just how to define what he was now. “I’m Davos. Missandei says you’re new with us?”

Davos was not at all the type of stylist Stannis would have expected in a place like this, and for that he was grateful. No swishy stereotype, the man looked more like a middle-aged blue-collar worker, with a short beard and wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

“I am. Normally I wouldn’t come to a place like this at all but I have an important meeting tonight, and my regular barber is closed right now.”

The stylist merely raised an eyebrow, but it was less a judgment and more amusement — at least Stannis hoped so when he belatedly realized how that might have sounded.

“Got it,” Davos said, before Stannis could give it too much more thought, “nothing too … elaborate. So, what were you thinking of getting done? A wash and trim?”

“Yes, just neaten it up a bit, please. I don’t have much of a style.”

Davos nodded and spread a black vinyl cape over Stannis’ shoulders. “Let’s wash it out first and see what it looks like wet. Over to the sink, please.”

At Stannis’ barbershop, they didn’t wash unless you asked and he didn’t ask. It was an extra $10 for something that he could do at home — and did before each cut. Now, though, it was all a business expense. Renly had made it clear he had to look sharp for the Tyrells, so if it was going to take a salon wash and style to do it, then Stannis would endure it to avoid his brother’s ridicule.

As he leaned back, lowering his head into the basin, his jaw clenched thinking of this meeting and its spurious cause. He and Renly’s elder brother Robert was trying to land the Lannister family account, which would put him ahead in the books and in their unofficial competition for the year. While Stannis was perfectly willing to let him go on his ego trip and welcome — it was all for the good of Baratheon Investments after all — Renly had taken it personally and decided he was going to make a daring move of his own. He made a trip to Highgarden himself to court the Tyrells and their extensive financial reach, which was said to be made off the backs of migrant workers in the fruitful valleys — not that Stannis bothered himself much about their welfare, but the last generation of Tyrells had once taken up against his father Steffon and Stannis alone seemed to never quite forgive that …

“Try to relax your neck just a little,” the stylist’s voice cut into his thoughts. “I can’t really wash your hair if you are holding your head above the sink.”

“I’m sorry,” Stannis said honestly. He took a deep breath and forced himself to release his muscles, letting his head rest against the bowl — except that it was actually a pair of hands, firm and steady, that caught the back of his head.

“That’s better,” said Davos, letting his hands guide Stannis’ head down to the smooth porcelain of the sink. “How’s the water temperature?”

“Fine,” Stannis managed. He tried vaguely to remember the last time anyone had ever washed his hair for him. It was possible that it was his mother, when he was a small child. He closed his eyes, but they flew open again when Davos, his hands lathered with shampoo, began running his fingers through Stannis’ hair. It was not like anything he had felt before. His gaze found Davos’ face, a wide warm smile and eyes like coffee, and something in his throat and chest jolted uncomfortably.

“Eyes closed,” Davos grinned, touching Stannis’ cheek teasingly with a wet finger. “You don’t want to get soap in there if I get a little enthusiastic.”

Stannis obeyed, wondering exactly what it was that made him not mind the banter or the idea of Davos getting enthusiastic, whatever that would mean. He also wondered why he had ever come here and why he hadn’t come sooner. But it was hard to think about anything but how good he was feeling right now with Davos’ fingers massaging circles into his scalp, and he wondered if the goosebumps suddenly covering his arms were because of a stray drop of water down his collar or how strong Davos’ hands were when they kneaded the back of Stannis’ neck. The water was warm but Stannis felt like he was shivering inside, from his core. Then Davos smoothed his forehead and threaded his hands down into Stannis’ hair again and he was warmed all over. The ceiling lights were blurred behind his closed eyelids and the music switched to a song with a driving beat; Davos hummed along with the singer while he lulled Stannis into half a trance with his fingers and the hot spray of the water.

It was over too soon, yet Stannis felt like it had gone on for hours. He couldn’t quite feel his feet on the floor or the chair back behind him. The water switched off; Davos draped a warm white towel around Stannis’ shoulders and held another in his hands. “Lean forward,” he said, “if you don’t mind.”

Stannis could barely get his breath, but he obliged, because right now he would do anything this man asked, meetings be damned. Davos patted his hair with the towel as Stannis let his head fall forward, releasing the tension he had built up from leaning back. 

“Hm,” he heard Davos say through the towel. “I would love to try a point cut, and with a little gel on the ends … That would be hot.”

Something like an electrical current shot through Stannis when he heard Davos describing him as _hot _, even with just a theoretical haircut. He thought of the high and tight, crisp cut the barbers downtown gave him, and the intimidating Tyrells who waited in the penthouse meeting room. Davos tousled Stannis’ hair, giving it a last pat with the towel and then running his fingers through it from the scalp to the ends.__

__“Look,” he said admiringly. He led Stannis to a mirror. “You hardly even need me to _do_ anything.”_ _

__Stannis looked. He almost gasped at the reflection that met him: the color was high in his cheeks, his eyes were bright, and his hair was — well, there was no other way to put it — it was fuck-me hair, the kind he rolled his eyes at when Renly pointed it out on other men on the street. Stannis didn’t really think of himself as having wavy hair, but there it was in the mirror, and the way Davos had mussed it made each lazy curl fall into place. But the most shocking thing was his expression — calm, content, even blissed-out in a way he had never seen before on his own face. He met Davos’ eyes behind him in the mirror._ _

__“I haven’t even cut it yet,” Davos said, “and it … you look … fucking amazing.”_ _

__Stannis’ heart skipped. “I … I think it was the shampoo to be honest. I haven’t really …”_ _

__“Oh,” said Davos. “I was your first?” That grin again._ _

__“You were. And I think you should do whatever you want to me,” Stannis decided._ _

__He could see Davos swallowing, hard, the stubbly skin moving over his Adam’s apple. And he was oddly gratified by the reaction._ _

__“That’s what every stylist wants to hear,” Davos said eventually. But Stannis kept his eyes locked on Davos’ for just long enough to know he didn’t only mean the hair._ _


End file.
